𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩

Chapter X X

20
∆

Surprise!

  "Cy, wake up."

  Salt water splashed his face. Clarisse was shaking his shoulder.

  In the distance, the sun was setting behind a city skyline. Cyrus could see a beachside highway lined with palm trees, storefronts glowing with red and blue neon, a harbor filled with sailboats and cruise ships.

  "Miami, I think," Annabeth said. "But the hippocampi are acting funny."

  Sure enough, their fishy friends had slowed down and were whinnying and swimming in circles, sniffing the water. They didn’t look happy. One of them sneezed. Cyrus could tell what they were thinking.

  "This is as far as they’ll take us," Cyrus said. "Too many humans. Too much pollution. We’ll have to swim to shore on our own."

  None of them was very psyched about that, but they thanked Rainbow and his friends for the ride. Tyson cried a little. He unfastened the makeshift saddle pack he’d made, which contained his tool kit and a couple of other things he’d salvaged from the Birmingham wreck. He hugged Rainbow around the neck, gave him a soggy mango he’d picked up on the island, and said good-bye.

  Once the hippocampi’s white manes disappeared into the sea, the group swam for shore, (y/n) clinging to Percy's back, face flushed from embarrassment. The waves pushed them forward, and in no time they were back in the mortal world. They wandered along the cruise line docks, pushing through crowds of people arriving for vacations. Porters bustled around with carts of luggage. Taxi drivers yelled at each other in Spanish and tried to cut in line for customers. If anybody
noticed them—seven kids dripping wet and looking like they’d just had a fight with a monster—they didn’t let on.

  Now that they were back among mortals, Tyson’s single eye had blurred from the Mist. Grover had put on his cap and sneakers. Even the Fleece had transformed from a sheepskin to a red-and-gold high school letter jacket with a large glittery Omega on the pocket.

  Annabeth ran to the nearest newspaper box and checked the date on the Miami Herald. She cursed. "June eighteenth! We’ve been away from camp ten days!"

  "That’s impossible!" Clarisse said.

  But Cyrus knew it wasn’t. Time traveled differently in monstrous places. Like in the Lotus Casino he'd been painfully reminded of in that imaginary war he'd fought in.

  "Thalia’s tree must be almost dead," Grover wailed. "We have to get the Fleece back tonight."

  Clarisse slumped down on the pavement. "How are we supposed to do that?" Her voice trembled. "We’re hundreds of miles away. No money. No ride. This is just like the Oracle said. It’s your fault, Daffodil! If you hadn’t interfered—"

  "(y/n)'s fault?!" Annabeth exploded. "Clarisse, how can you say that? You are the biggest—"

  "Stop it!" Cyrus said.

  Clarisse put her head in hands. Annabeth stomped her foot in frustration.

  The thing was: Cyrus had almost forgotten this quest was supposed to be Clarisse’s. For a scary moment, he saw things from her point of view. How would he feel if a bunch of other heroes had butted in and made him look bad?

  "Clarisse," (y/n) said, "what did the Oracle tell you exactly?"

  She looked up. Cyrus thought she was going to tell the boy off, but instead she took a deep breath and recited her prophecy: